by Vasudhendra
Mohanaswamy did not say a word as Rajesh gave him an application form. ‘Sir, please fill in all these columns,’ he requested. Mohanaswamy ran his eyes over the page. There were more than fifty queries for customers relating to interiors: the choice of tiles, bathroom fittings, French windows, wall paint, cross-ventilation, TV cables, internet connection and so on. Certain choices would inflate the cost. At the end of the form, the house buyer had to put his signature.
Mohanaswamy neither had the interest nor the courage to answer those queries. He feared that if he stood there for some more time, he might collapse. He had made up his mind not to present himself as a lachrymose to Rajesh, a total stranger. But soon he sensed his determination crumbling, bit by bit. He did not tick any of the checkboxes, but simply signed off at the end of the form and returned it to Rajesh. ‘You please fill it up for me. I’m not particular about all these things. Anything you say is okay. Don’t worry about money, please,’ he said. A bemused Rajesh simply nodded his head. ‘Do I have to sign anywhere else?’ Mohanaswamy enquired.
‘No, sir, you will have to come back at the time of registration, that’s enough. Please leave your mobile number and address.’
‘I am going abroad tomorrow. My friend will help you in all these matters. I will give him the power of attorney. I will share his address and contact number. Is that okay?’ he asked. Rajesh nodded.
Mohanaswamy rushed out of the apartment complex like a bat out of hell. The experience had been more harrowing than that endoscopy. He strongly felt that he should have had a low-paying job so that he would always be compelled to live in rented rooms. Will I be able to live in this big house once I return? He grew anxious. Whatever it is, one thing is for sure, I will not hold a house-warming ceremony. I swear, I won’t do it! He said to himself repeatedly.
Rajesh stood in the balcony as he watched this strange fellow disappear into the dust, perplexed why he bought a house worth forty lakh rupees in just thirty minutes.
FOUR FACES
‘Are you a Brahmin?’asked Darshan.
After Karthik left him, it took years for Mohanaswamy’s wounds to heal. Getting his life on an even keel after the break-up wasn’t easy. After all, Karthik was his first partner, who, after living in with him for a long time, went away and got married to a woman. It was a happy partnership which Mohanaswamy had believed would last a lifetime. But the painful separation left him completely bereft and changed his worldview about relationships. While he still searched for new companions to fulfil his sexual needs, he decided not to commit himself to long-term relationships. As a young man, people pestered him to get married, even offered to find him a bride. But when he came out of the closet, nobody had a heart large enough to advise him to find himself a boy and settle down. Mohanaswamy started living life the way he liked. In an uncaring society, who really gives a damn about you anyway?
As men walked into and out of his life one after the other, Mohanaswamy learnt to accept it all with the equanimity of a ‘Sthitaprajna’ – treating pleasure and pain alike. As he extended his connections with gay men, he saw a whole new exciting world opening before him. Every time Mohanaswamy made love to a new body, the experience was enchantingly different. The more he explored the more it got mysterious. And yet, as Mohanaswamy crossed forty-five, mental and emotional companionship became the more pressing need than lust. But he also knew that unless there was a physical involvement, people did not open up their mind and heart.
Mohanaswamy just couldn’t forget Veluswamy, a twenty-five-year-old whom he met through Grindr, a gay dating app. The picture of his athletic physique turned on Mohanaswamy. At the same time, he was sceptical whether such a handsome young man would oblige a middle-aged man like him. Also he wasn’t sure whether he would be able to keep up with Veluswamy’s in bed. But Veluswamy’s stunning looks drew him like magnet. He decided to try his luck and sent him a ‘hello’.
The relationship progressed as any other – long chats on the internet, a cup of coffee at Costa, a movie at the multiplex and a meal at Pizza Hut – and within a week, Mohanaswamy succeeded in bringing Veluswamy home. But he still wasn’t sure whether Veluswamy had any interest in him. Is this young man really interested in me? Or has he come to my house purely out of respect for my age? Mohanaswamy’s mind reeled under the fear of rejection. But he tried to hide his anxiety. They had dinner together and nattered on about this and that for a while. Finally, when it was time to sleep, Mohanaswamy asked him hesitatingly, ‘Do you prefer sleeping in a separate room or will you sleep with me in my bedroom?’
Veluswamy, who had sensed his anxiety all along, smiled, and suddenly pulled him closer and passionately kissed him on the lips, igniting flames of desire in him. Unable to hold out any longer, Mohanaswamy took Veluswamy’s clothes off greedily.
It wasn’t a smooth ride, though. As Mohanaswamy frenziedly went for his stark naked body, Veluswamy stopped him. ‘Sir, I want to tell you something before we proceed,’ he said.
Mohanaswamy was irked. It was like being intercepted by a traffic cop when you were on a joy ride. Even then, he exercised restraint and asked, ‘What?’
‘Sir, I am HIV positive. I came to know about it a year ago. Now I am on medication. I am telling this to you in advance because I don’t want to be dishonest,’ he said calmly.
Veluswamy’s disclosure came as a bolt from the blue. Mohanaswamy took a step back.
Noticing his uneasiness, Veluswamy reiterated, ‘I could have hidden it from you. But sir, you see, I did not want to be dishonest.’
Mohanaswamy was moved by his honesty, but still he hesitated to proceed.
Veluswamy continued, ‘Sir, you are well educated, and I expect you to be in the know of things. I have condoms with me. Don’t worry, nothing will happen,’ he said in an assuring tone.
Mohanaswamy couldn’t help but give into his persuasions, mad as he was over the young man’s winsome looks. He had read a lot about HIV and the knowledge gave him the courage. Then there was no stopping them as they hungrily devoured each other’s bodies.
Veluswamy woke up at the break of the dawn. He planted a light kiss on Mohanaswamy’s sleepy eyes and murmured, ‘I love your courage, sir.’ He then put his clothes on, wrapped the condoms carefully in a piece of paper, discarded them in the dustbin and left. A contended Mohanaswamy lay swooning in the bed till well after sunrise. But finally when he got up, sunlight had lit up the room and the terrible reality dawned upon him. Will I too get HIV? he shuddered. His mind was swirling with the niggling thought as he brushed his teeth, took his bath and offered puja to the gods.
He did not feel like going to office and applied for leave via email. He forced himself to have breakfast and rushed to Victoria Hospital, overwrought. The hospital had an exclusive unit to screen gay men for HIV. He had been there a few times before for routine check-up and had come out with a smiling face. But this time it was different. Anxiety was writ large on his face. ‘Why did I get into bed with Veluswamy knowing his HIV status?’ he cursed himself under his breath. Condoms, he thought, may not be a hundred per cent foolproof. A drop of semen – that too of a robust young man – would have lakhs of sperms in it, rushing with immense force. How could a condom – after all a small rubber pouch – contain it all? Mohanaswamy was assailed by these scary thoughts.
When he expressed his concerns to the lady doctor at the hospital, she just laughed it off. ‘You have read so much about HIV. And you used condoms, right? Then why are you so vexed?’ she said, brushing aside his worries. But theory is often far from reality, thought Mohanaswamy. Seeing him still anxious, the doctor said, ‘If it still bothers you, take the test. But the presence of the virus will be known only after three months.’
‘Three months! What will I do till then?’ cried Mohanaswamy.
‘Use condoms without fail,’ she said.
Those three months were nothing short of hell for Mohanaswamy. An unutterable sadness enveloped him. Even a small fluctuation in health gave hi
m the jitters. How a tiny virus, hard to detect even under the microscope, had ruined a wise Mohanaswamy’s days and nights! ‘Oh! To hell with me! Why did I knowingly invite this trouble? Why did I allow myself to fall for the desire?’ he wailed.
Veluswamy continued sending him messages on WhatsApp. ‘Sir, shall we meet again, please? It’s very difficult to find brave people like you. What a pleasure it was to be with you! The memories thrill me till date. We shall meet again, sir, please,’ he texted, enclosing an emoji of two men holding hands.
But Mohanaswamy had no courage to meet Veluswamy again. He made excuses to avoid him. ‘If you too start acting like others, where will I go, sir? Should HIV positive people be deprived of sexual pleasure all their life? We too have physical needs like you all,’ he sent a message along with a crying-face emoji.
But Mohanaswamy was unmoved. Thereafter there were no messages from him.
On the day that marked the completion of the three restless months, Mohanaswamy ran to Victoria Hospital to know the results of the HIV test. ‘It’s negative,’ said the lady doctor with a smile. ‘You were unnecessarily worried.’ The news came as a big relief to Mohanaswamy. All his worries vanished into thin air. He emerged triumphant from the hospital with a broad smile, went straight to a corner ice-cream shop and relished a huge honey dew. He felt on top of the world.
But as his anxiety disappeared, physical desire raised its head again. Veluswamy’s hot body began hovering before his eyes. Not that he wouldn’t get anyone else. But his mind was obsessed with Veluswamy – his honesty, his strong body and tender age. His gentle kiss on the eyes and murmured words of love. Temptation surged through him at the thought of the night spent with Veluswamy. If a condom – just a tiny rubber pouch – can prevent all ills, why succumb to fear? Why stop bedding such a wonderful fellow just because of some petty virus? Besides, hadn’t he read up enough new articles and stories on the internet about gays living happily with HIV positive people?
‘Shall we meet this weekend?’ Mohanaswamy texted Veluswamy, enclosing a red-lips emoji. There was no reply from him for a couple of days. However, a text came on the third day: ‘My health is giving me problems, sir. I can’t meet you for a few months’.
‘What happened to you, Velu? Aren’t you taking your pills?’ Mohanaswamy asked in concern.
‘HIV is under control, sir, that’s not a problem. But these days I am coughing a lot. Doctors suspect it to be tuberculosis. HIV diminishes our immunity, making it easy for harmful microbes to thrive in our body. I have lost 10 kgs in three months,’ he replied.
Mohanaswamy was sad. ‘So what? We can still meet. Why don’t you come over?’ he said, trying to cheer him up.
‘Sir, HIV is a simple infection which can be prevented by using a condom. But is there a contraceptive for TB? No, there isn’t any. There is no point in meeting now,’ he replied.
After that, Mohanaswamy decided not to disturb him.
Ramadhar Trivedi hailed from Varanasi. Born into a pandit family, he grew up swimming in the river Ganga and practising yoga that his grandfather had taught him. He could bend and twist his body like rubber. He had a slim waistline and a tall, lean body like a eucalyptus tree. He was just two years younger to Mohanaswamy, but looked much younger. Mohanaswamy was enamoured of his expressive eyes and the dimples on his cheeks. Ramadhar was a man of few words. He spoke like a scholar, weighing out every word. He had studied Sanskrit at the Banaras Hindu University. He religiously applied vibhuti on his forehead and kumkum between his eyebrows. He earned his living as a yoga teacher. He went to software engineers’ houses in Bengaluru and taught them yoga. Since he belonged to the priest class, people sometimes requested him to perform puja at their houses. Both these occupations earned him good money though money was his least concern. ‘I had never thought that the yoga and the mantras I learnt during my childhood would one day help me earn my keep,’ he would tell Mohanaswamy modestly.
Though Ramadhar Trivedi was physically robust, he had feminine traits. Until a few years ago, Mohanaswamy had never felt attracted to effiminate men. His choice would always be the rough and tough alpha male types. But now he was mature enough to accept people as they were. Moreover, when Ramadhar took Mohanaswamy to bed, he was out-and-out masculine. The energy with which he rode him till late midnight without any signs of tiredness awed Mohanaswamy. What was the source of his unflagging vigour? Was it the river Ganga where he swam regularly or the yoga which he practiced so rigourously? Mohanaswamy wondered. Perhaps only Lord Vishwanatha of Varanasi knew the secret.
Ramadhar was a mature person, calm and poised at all times. Mohanaswamy had never heard him complaining about life. As a yoga teacher, he rode his bike long distances every day going to software engineers’ houses in different parts of the city, but never cribbed about traffic jams. He was very punctual, always reaching his destination on time. He never skipped the three-time sandhyavandana, doing it with religious fervour. He meditated, studied Sanskrit and religious texts most part of the day and hardly talked about sex. His unflappability often irritated Mohanaswamy.
At the beginning of their relationship, Ramadhar put a condition. ‘When two persons start living in, it is as good as marriage. A marriage won’t be successful unless the couple are loyal to each other. If you are loyal to me, I can live happily with you. On my part, I promise you, I will never jump the fence,’ he said. Mohanaswamy was glad in a way. Settling down with Ramadhar seemed a better option than hunting for new faces all the time. He agreed happily.
Everything went well for some time. Mohanaswamy was at the peak of joy. Those were the days of immense happiness. Ramadhar moved in with him. He kept the house clean and tidy, doing all the chores himself. He was a good cook and prepared north Indian delicacies. Mohanaswamy relished all the food and attention he got. He became lazy and also put on some weight. But a fitness freak, he soon brought himself on back on track, going for brisk walks and a trek to the Himalayas to shed calories.
Ramadhar kept his words and showed unflinching devotion to Mohanaswamy. Sometimes when they walked together on the streets, Mohanaswamy would point to handsome young men around and exclaim, ‘Wow! So hot!’ But Ramadhar would just smile. He was never inclined towards other men. Even in bed, he carried himself with the same poise, at an unhurried pace, without ever getting tired. ‘The union of two bodies is akin to yoga,’ he would explain. ‘We must become one with each other without any haste or stress, just like a fish swimming quietly in the Ganga at dusk.’ In stripping, hugging, kissing, stroking or ejaculating, he had the art of beginning it at a slow pace and taking it to a high pitch, like singers do in Hindustani classical music. According to him, the satisfaction one derived from climbing the mountain in Tirupati barefoot and seeking the darshan of Lord Thimmappa after standing in a long queue, could not be found in whizzing up the mountain in a swanky car and entering the temple directly through the VIP route, skipping the queue. He would give many such examples to stress the power of dedication and equanimity.
But soon Mohanaswamy began finding it all too boring. Sex with Ramadhar, though still pleasurable, was losing its novelty. Mohanaswamy wanted sex on tap, any time with anyone of his choice. Just go to the internet and you will find plenty of good-looking boys. Open the Grindr app on your mobile and it will throw up responses from hot, dashing men, one of whom could be living only a stone’s throw away from your house. When the world was filled with such beautiful possibilities, why cling to a single partner? Better to break up with one and take up with another. Then another. In variety was spice, Mohanaswamy was convinced, and a monotonous life with just one partner was nothing but a state of inertia.
But no such thoughts seemed to perturb Ramadhar. He was the same, calm and composed, living with unswerving loyalty to Mohanaswamy. His composure irritated Mohanaswamy even more and soon he began resenting Ramadhar’s presence. Earlier he was free as a flying bird, but now Ramadhar had clipped his wings. He got sick of the banality of everyday life. This w
as not how he had wanted it. But he could not say it directly. The bottled up anger and frustration soon began finding different outlets. Bickering became quite common and differences began to surface. Mohanaswamy often nagged Ramadhar over his overtly religious behaviour. ‘You know how our religious leaders and pontiffs join hands in opposing our clan. Still, why are you so obsessed with religion?’ he would taunt Ramadhar.
To this, Ramadhar would calmly reply, ‘If you had studied religion deeply you wouldn’t be making such statements. There is no point in arguing with people with half knowledge.’
But Mohanaswamy wouldn’t stop picking on him. ‘These north Indians love fighting. They cannot simply get along with us south Indians,’ he would say querulously. Ramadhar would ignore it as if it was not directed at him and get on with his chores. But Mohanaswamy wouldn’t leave it at that. ‘You are also a north Indian. Do I take your silence as an endorsement of my view?’
To this Ramadhar would calmly reply, ‘Wherever you go in this world there are both good and bad people, be it south India or north India.’
All in all, Mohanaswamy’s patience was waning. He suffered like a patient on a strict dietary regimen. It was during those days that he happened to meet Shantanu Biswas. It was Vaikuntha Ekadashi and Ramadhar had forcibly taken him to Venkateshwara temple. The temple was teeming with people. As they stood in a line for the lord’s darshan, a man approached Ramadhar and called him aside, saying, ‘Guruji, I want to discuss the matter of my daughter’s matrimony with you.’ As Ramadhar went following that gentleman, Mohanaswamy’s eyes rested on the married man standing right in front of him in the queue, carrying his crying baby on his shoulder. He had removed his t-shirt and wrapped it around his waist as men were not allowed inside the temple with their shirts on. Mohanaswamy had observed that newly married men with a baby had a certain charm in them. They are neither like a blossoming bud nor like a withering flower. Rather, they look like full-blown flowers ablaze in the morning sun. They often put on a little weight after marriage, a sign of a happy content life.